


armistice

by qaftsiel



Series: a sense of obligation [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Fear, Gen, trueform!Gadreel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaftsiel/pseuds/qaftsiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the inner chambers of Sam's mind, a cornered Gadreel comes to Sam for help.</p><p>(Set during the events of chapter 5 of 'to forget the sky'. Won't make a lot of sense out of context.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	armistice

**Author's Note:**

> Written during the hour's commute to work on Wednesday when it occurred to me that it would be interesting to write about how Sam and Gadreel came to work together during the escape scene in chapter five. Some very minor spoilers for things yet to come in 'to forget the sky', but nothing directly relevant to critical plot points.

 

The first thing Sam realizes is that he’s in the Bunker’s library.

 

The second thing Sam realizes is that he’s _not._

 

First and foremost, the table and chairs are gone— all that’s left is the parquet, and even that looks strange and blurry. His gaze then lands on the shelves, and those, too, are not the library shelves he remembers. In between the spines of familiar volumes, a hunter’s hoard of scrolls, clay tablets, crystals, sigils, and a thousand other artifacts have been crammed into the remaining space, spilling out onto the floor in some places. Finally, Sam’s gaze roves upward, and the final nail in the proverbial coffin is a sky like something from the Hubble gallery filling the void where there should be an anti-supernatural take on an Art Deco ceiling.

 

Almost as soon as he notes the lack of warding, the sound of doors slamming and locks being thrown fills the room. The sky flickers, fills with a thick latticework of Enochian warding sigils and no-pass inscriptions; steel panels splashed with more of the same leap up over the bookshelves. Even the entryways to and from the library are sealed, thick vault doors with ship’s-wheel locks firmly in place.

 

“Samuel Winchester.”

 

Sam whirls in place to face the strange man, reaching for a knife that… isn’t there. Heart pounding, he leaves his hand where it is behind his back— he’s unarmed, but the big dude standing in front of the sealed library entrance doesn’t know that.

 

The man’s eyes flick down to the level of Sam’s hand; for a brief moment, reality _twitches_ and Sam’s staring down ( _shifting, roiling helixes and curved surfaces, coiling in and through and around themselves like a living current of blinding, blue-white light, or maybe like one of those fractal posters on that one math teacher’s classroom wall, just in three dimensions, and constantly sliding in and out of sight, and behind them six loops unfurl like skeins of superheated plasma in a solar prominence, like the fronds of a fern, like feathers, like_ ** _wings_** _)_ dark, grey-blue eyes in a face tense with unease.

 

“Who are you?” Sam demands. He backs away, but no matter how he moves, the distance between them never increases. “What do you want?”

 

The man ( _shifts just so, planes angling and coils sinking out of view until the whole is barely half its former size_ ) lifts his hands with palms outward, a gesture of supplication as much as peace. Seemingly at a loss for words, the man reaches out with one ( _searing, rushing loop of light and power_ ) ineluctable palm and lays it against Sam’s cheek.

 

In an instant, Sam understands; in an instant, Sam is furious. “ _What the fuck,_ ” he roars, ignoring the way the dream realm around them quakes with the force of his fury. He knows it was the angel Gadreel’s only way out, can feel the residue of Dean’s black desperation through Gadreel’s memory of their deal, knows exactly what it is Gadreel is so afraid of now, but for now he is scared and _violated,_ sickened by the knowledge that he’s been host to a… a _parasite,_ a threat to his own family, all because his brother hadn’t been able to let him go.

 

He is sickened for ages, for days, for moments. Time is strange here.

 

 **I will not ask for your forgiveness,** Gadreel says after some time, voice seeming to resonate from the room itself rather than from the projection of his former vessel. When the image flickers and Sam is left standing with the roiling twist of light that is Gadreel’s true form, the angel’s regret and fear are laid bare. **I ask only for your help.**

 

Sam rounds on the angel; though there’s no doubt that Gadreel could roast him right out of his own skull, the angel allows Sam to approach, to loom over his reduced true form. “Why should I help _you_?” he snarls down at the curls and loops of light. They shiver and ripple in response, not with fear but with self-reproach.

 

**You know why.**

 

It’s true, too. Gadreel had transferred much more than the facts of how he had come to inhabit Sam’s body— Sam can’t help but know. He knows what Metatron is doing, knows where they are, knows just how scared the angel is of some nameless horror. It doesn’t mean he’s going to help, though, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s going to forgive the guy. “I’ll ask you again, Gadreel,” Sam rumbles. “Why should I help someone who _took me over,_ who _rode in my body without my explicit, informed consent,_ never mind someone _gullible_ enough, someone _pathetic_ enough to throw in with plots as stupid as Metatron’s?” He sneers. “How do I know that this _isn’t_ just a monster under the bed? You sure seemed to think _Metatron_ was clever.”

 

A brush of a coil of light and Gadreel’s self-recrimination becomes viscerally tangible. In interfacing with Sam to share his memories, Gadreel had not just seen Metatron through Sam’s mental lens, outside of his own fears; he’d seen _everything_ through that lens. **I admit to shame. I let my fear rule me, Samuel.**

 

“Does it rule you now?” Sam demands.

 

Another brush of light, this time accompanied by a rush of images. A distant star, vast and red, vanishing in a sudden and violent cataclysm of unspeakably burning light; in the wake of that light, something terrible glints in the dark, strange shapes sliding and coiling in on themselves just outside of visibility. Outward the wave of light races, and outward the _thing_ continues, endless and alien and incomprehensible and eternally _moving._ Another image: an angel, great and bright and cold, screaming into the darkness, mind irreparably bent by the immense, horrible thing between the stars, vowing to destroy everything in its way. Finally, a third remembering, a memory of a black, twisting cloud, aberrant and disturbing, surrounded by flinders of light that might once have been wings.

 

 **You see now,** Gadreel says.

 

Gritting his teeth, Sam nods. Whatever this unnamed _thing_ is, it’s loose now, the terms of its imprisonment unwittingly undone by whatever Metatron had sacrificed Castiel to achieve. It’s loose, and it had _touched_ his brother, who’s trapped in the same room with a rogue angel oblivious to the greater threat. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. I have two conditions though, Gadreel, and if you fail to abide by them both completely, all bets are off, understood?”

 

**I understand. Name your terms.**

 

“You won’t kill Kevin,” Sam says, “or any of my family. That means Dean, Charlie, Garth, Jody, Claire Novak, or even Cas, if God brings him back again. Unless I decide that it has to be done, that there’s absolutely no other way, you will not kill or hurt them.” 

 

 **I can promise that,** Gadreel agrees. **Your second condition?**

 

“We find a way to cure Dean,” Sam says. “I don’t care how scary this thing is, we’re finding a way to fix my brother.”

 

Gadreel’s planes and spirals twist with redoubled unease. Dean has been touched by the _thing_ in the cold between, and Gadreel is afraid of him.

 

Sam sighs. Reaching out, he touches a coil of light and sends memories of his brother. Sends memories of comfort in the night when he was tiny, of books read aloud, of meals made with little skill but boundless love. Of companionship, of sibling bickering, of the first time Dean was hurt on his account on a hunt. Of the brother-shaped hole in his life he never acknowledged while he was at Stanford, and of the love and loyalty that persisted even despite the wedges driven between them during the events of the last decade, even after this latest violation.

 

“It’s not healthy by any stretch, I know,” Sam says, “but that’s… that’s the lay of the land, Gadreel. If there’s a way to cure him, we’re finding it.”

 

Without eyes or a face, Gadreel still manages to look dumbstruck. Some parts of him look like they’re in slow-motion; others whirl like tornadoes or rush like water over the face of a cliff. The disparate speeds steadily equalize as Gadreel processes. **I am afraid,** he says slowly. 

 

Sam recognizes the confession with a nod. The memory-sharing had gone two ways, and he knows just how long Gadreel has been running, trying to escape his fear. “I am too,” he says, because it’s true. Whatever they’re facing, it’s bigger than anything they’ve ever faced before, and Dean is so deeply entangled in it all that it might very well be impossible to extricate him safely. It's also true that he can't-- that he  _won't--_ give in.

 

The angel senses this, gathers himself, planes and curls sliding back into visibility. Soon he matches Sam in stature, six wings half-open behind him. **I am afraid, Samuel,** he says again, **and I know I am unworthy of your assistance, but I will do my best. I cannot promise perfection— you understand the depth of this fear of mine— but… for you, Samuel, for this love you have for your brother, to begin to repent for what I have done to you… I will fight my fears. You are but human and fight through your fear; surely I, an angel, can do the same.**

 

Sam huffs, takes the tendril of light the angel offers. Even after his pronouncement, Gadreel’s whole being _vibrates_ with terror, and some cold, hard part of Sam gives in.

 

 **I must not fear,** he sends over the tentative connection. **Fear is the mind-killer.**

 

Gadreel trembles, but Gadreel listens.

 

***

 

_I must not fear._

_Fear is the mind killer._

_Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration._

_I will face my fear._

_I will permit it to pass over and through me,_

_and when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path._

_Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing._

_Only I will remain._

 

_\- Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear_

_Frank Herbert,_ **_Dune_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading. I really hope you guys are enjoying this; it's one of only a few things keeping me sane these past couple of weeks. Please feel welcome to comment and ask questions! I like hearing from readers. :)


End file.
